


to a room that's made of moonlight

by missveils (Missveils)



Series: Inquisitor Dáire Lavellan [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Introspection, M/M, blackwall/female lavellan (implied), post dragon age 4, whatever that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils
Summary: Introspective fic set years post whatever happens in DA4, where Solas abandons his plans, everything is fine again with the world and he has to learn to live with the fact that he fought and almost killed his lover and his lover's sister =')
Relationships: Fen'Harel | Solas/Male Lavellan, Male Lavellan/Solas
Series: Inquisitor Dáire Lavellan [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694902
Kudos: 4





	to a room that's made of moonlight

There are scars that will always hurt.

Whenever Solas pulls his arm back, the two arrow-wound scars on his shoulder pull back at his skin. When the air turns cold, they punctuate every breath he takes. 

The scar on Ellara’s leg comes to mind. Deep and purple, making her limp ever so slightly when the weather turned cold. “A reminder of recklessness” she called it once. And he understands it now. 

There are scars that only hurt under the touch of fingertips. 

In the light of a campfire, Dáire runs his hand over the burn on Solas’ leg, tracing the ridges from his ankle to his knee. Solas’ hand rests on the clean cut on Dáire’s hip, the faint dots of the stitches, mirroring the ones on his shirt. 

They touch them as if trying to heal them, but they do not speak about them. 

Just as how they don’t speak about the times Dáire tries to hold him back with a hand that is not there. The same hand Solas still tries to hold sometimes. 

There are wounds that never heal properly.

Ellara plays with her daughter on her lap and the girl reaches up and runs her little fingers over the scar on her mother’s face. 

“Mum, how did you get this scar?”

Three vertical lines, two of them barely visible, one running jagged between her eye and nose and down to her mouth. Her right canine is always visible. When she smiles, it pulls tight at her lip. She looks back at him, pressing her cheek against her daughter’s. 

“Well, your uncle once thought he could fight me and win.”

Aveline’s eyes are barely visible under her fringe when she scowls at him. 

“That’s stupid. No one can beat mum!”

Ellara laughs, and there is no bitterness, no pain in it. Dáire, stirs in his sleep against his shoulder, and Solas looks for his right hand, to entwine their fingers. 

There are wounds that hurt less with the wind blowing through the trees and the sun on their face.

**Author's Note:**

> Dáire Lavellan belongs to @littlegumshoe on Tumblr  
> Ellara Lavellan (and lil Aveline Lavellan) is my OC


End file.
